


The Darkest Time

by may_green



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Canon, Protective Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 01:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19188976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/may_green/pseuds/may_green
Summary: It was the worst time in the whole Crowley's existence.Heavens took their revenge, and Crowley was powerless to do anything but watch and wait without hope while Aziraphale was Fallling._________________I'm not a native speaker, so  all hail to moonlite for making English in my self-translation better)My first published fic ever - what has this series done to me...





	The Darkest Time

It was the worst time in Crowley's entire existence. He found out later, it was just a bit more than a month. Then he just stopped counting. Time was irrelevant.

Heavens took their time to avenge. Almost three weeks have passed since the Apocalypse-That-Was-Not - three weeks of lunches and dinners, of strolling through the parks, feeding ducks, and chatting. Three weeks of perfect - now even in London - summer time which rocked worries away and cradled in lightheartedness.

Crowley was there when it happened - he could have been on the other side of the Earth the same way, so powerless he was to do anything. Aziraphale just suddenly lurched, his hand on his heart and fell down convulsing.

“Aziraphale!” The demon jumped towards him, but he was not in the bookshop anymore, just a human body writhed in agony on the floor. Crowley didn't need to guess long. He knew what was happening.

Aziraphale was Falling.

Perhaps, if you stay close by in Heavens before the Fall, you can follow the track of an angelic body through the endless aether. Perhaps, if you stay in Hell and wait looking up, you can predict where to dash to catch him.

Crowley was on the Earth without any chance of finding Aziraphale. All he was left to do was watch the human shell, still linked to the angel, suffer the damages.

Perhaps, it was exactly what he was meant to do.

Watch and suffer.

To stay at the bookshop was unbearable - he took the body home, and now it tossed and tumbled in his bed. Crowley brought ice when it was burning with fever, and covered it with blankets when its skin got frost cold. He wiped off the blood pouring through its pores and didn't let it break its bones in cramps.

He dreamt of revenge. Black seething rage came upon him and he plotted to overthrow Heaven - knowing exactly that not Gabriel and his lot were responsible and therefore it's all useless - but mostly he just sat or lay near, embracing his angel and whispering in his ears.

He spoke out everything that was silenced for centuries. His love to Aziraphale, his longing, his fear of living without him, Aziraphale being the best and only important thing in his existence. He remembered every meeting and everything they had done together, and every story Aziraphale told about times in between. Every little restaurant and park, every library and concert venue. The Garden of Eden and Tadfield's air base.  
He didn't know if Aziraphale would ever return to this body. He didn't know who exactly would return.

Blood streamed across the sheets and the wings turned to black, soaking with blood till the last feather barb. Aziraphale's hair turned caramel brown. The room smelled smoky.

Every demon in Hell was once an angel. Every murderer, liar, corruptor and villain was once a herald of God's glory. Ligur, who killed for fun, and Hastur, who killed for joy and to feel better, were both beautiful once and capable of loving. But the Fall changed it forever.

Aziraphale screamed and yelled from pain. Sometimes he let out a torrent of abuse and blasphemy that drowned in moans, then laid motionless, nearly dead, and only the sharp senses of the demon could detect the remaining hints of life.

 When their beloved get into such a condition, people start praying. She Who-They-Pray-Upon was the one responsible for what was happening to Aziraphale.

Demons don't need to sleep or to eat. Crowley didn't leave Aziraphale's side for a moment until suddenly it was over. A strange silence mantled the room as if before it had been shaken by an unhearable thunder.

But now the storm was over.

The Fallen angel on the bed opened his eyes. Crowley, sitting beside him, held his breath. 

“Can you hear me, Aziraphale?” he asked and faltered with terror - this name shouldn't be mentioned. “Can you hear me?”

Black, absolutely black from lid to lid eyes blinked, and the Fallen One nodded. Crowley licked his suddenly very dry lips.

“Do you remember me?”

The burnt-out face got distorted with cramp, anger lit up those eyes. For a moment Crowley was ready for the Fallen One to lash out at him - was it worth fighting? although he was so much stronger now? Wouldn't it be easier just to let this new demon with Aziraphale’s face kill him now, when Aziraphale is gone?

But black eyes closed and opened greyish-blue, barely working lips whispered some utter nonsense:

“Yes, my love.”

While having a great notion that he was slipping into madness and hearing things, Crowley managed to create a glass of water and gently put it to the Fallen One's lips. He drank and faintly smiled in appreciation and was still.

Crowley could barely breathe.

“Aziraphale,” he said again, this time demanding and calling. “Aziraphale, is it you?”

The Fallen One nodded. He clearly was gathering strength for a couple of moments, then opened his eyes and shifted a bit up the pillows.

“Yes, Crowley. It's really me, dear,”

“But,” the demon felt tears coming to his throat and voice changing to a high wimpering, “How can it be you? It's nearly theoretically impossible! No one stayed himself after the Fall!”

“Well, I had something to cling to: my memory of you. And moreover, your voice,” Aziraphale smiled weakly. “I didn't always hear or understand the words, but…”

“You heard me?” amazement even dried Crowley's eyes. “ And... remember it? Well,“ he awkwardly coughed, “I was quite frightened at that moment and…”

“So was I,” Aziraphale said quietly and found the demon's hand with his own.

“Oh, ang -” Crowley nearly moaned and faltered again.

Aziraphale closed his eyes with exhaustion. “I suppose you meant something different by this word, not my status,” he said softly.

“For at least a thousand years,” Crowley nodded.

“Then you can still call me that, dear,” Aziraphale moved again and groaned with pain.

“Your wings,” the demon said knowingly, with a croaky voice. “Show them…”

Aziraphale sat with his help and spread his wings with a suffering moan. They were black, stained with blood and lacked many feathers. “So, something changed,” the Fallen angel said sadly, trying to unbend the right wing and not to scream.

“Oh, that Bitch that did this to you,” Crowley exhaled furiously.

“Don't say so,” Aziraphale answered. “She was not really happy to do it.”

“What? She sent you to torture! Don't you dare to excuse Her!”

Aziraphale shook his head - a careless move, after which he needed to grasp at Crowley and lie down again. “She gave me a choice. To stay or to go down - to be with you. She was quite precise about what "to go down" means. But it was, actually, a very obvious choice”.

The world around Crowley was flickering and shining. It was everything and so much more than he could dream of for the last thousand years. How was it possible to feel such pain and such happiness at the same moment?

“You must regret it terribly by now…” he said with an effort just to say anything.

“By no means,” his angel smiled. “I'm going to sleep for a while now. Would you mind staying here?”

Crowley wished to hold him and never ever let go, but he was afraid to cause him more pain, so he just took his hand and pressed it to his lips:

“Never.”


End file.
